RaBB: Angel Watching Over Me
by authoressnebula
Summary: Sam's 15, Dean's 19. A week at Pastor Jim's, helping renovate the church in more ways than one, should be fun. Except, you know, for the moody little brother who might need some talking to. Spoilers for season 2's Houses of the Holy.


The church wasn't right off the main road. It was tucked back a little bit, beyond some trees, but still easily seen and accessible from the front. They were talking about cutting them down, or so Dean'd heard from when he'd been here last. Something about the road expanding, but it wasn't happening today. They had other things to do today.

Dad slowed the car to a stop outside the front and parked it, glancing over at Dean. "You boys help Jim out with anything he needs, all right? But especially that basement."

"Yessir," Dean answered. Sam just nodded before he scooted out of the backseat. Dad rolled his eyes but didn't say anything, and Dean held in the sigh of resignation. Sam was such a pain in the ass at fifteen. Personally, Dean was really looking forward to the kid at twenty or something, when he'd be more fun. He had to get looser the older he got, right? Right.

Dean followed him out, moving around to the trunk to retrieve their bags. "Got everything?" Dad called, and Dean nodded in the direction of the side mirror. The trunk was closed with a bang, and Dean tossed Sam's bag at him. Sam rolled his eyes, and Dean wondered for the eight millionth time how they could be so alike yet be so different.

"Tell Jim I said hi; I'll be back in a week to get you both," Dad reminded Dean, sliding the car into drive. "Get inside, let him know you're here. Take care of yourselves." _And your brother,_ went unspoken, but Dean heard it anyways.

Without another word Sam trudged up the front steps of the church. Dean did sigh then, gave their dad a parting wave, and headed after his brother. Kid needed to stop being such a teenager sometimes and grow _up_.

The wooden door was heavy, but the atmosphere inside was worth it. Where the outside had been overly warm, inside was cool without being chilly. It was big and open-spaced, tall ceiling and long hall, and ended with an altar in purples and golds. A holy place, a place of solemnity and sanctity. Generally, things Dean didn't do.

This place had always felt like home, though, as much as Bobby's yard did.

"It's good to see you boys," a voice called from in front, and Dean grinned, meeting Sam up at the front. A moment later, and Pastor Jim appeared from behind the altar, tugging just so on the cloth. "Your father left already, I'm assuming," Jim continued.

"Yeah; got to deal with that job over in Missouri before the thing hurts anyone else," Dean said. Sam nodded tightly, and Dean glared at him. "An _important_ job, just like the one you've got set up for us to help with."

Jim raised his eyebrow and glanced between the two, before nodding slowly. "Yes indeed; I need my office refurnished. The entire church is getting a make-over, but I'm handling my office by myself. Well, with your help, now. I highly doubt they'd appreciate what I want to put in there," he added dryly.

Sam did finally crack a small smile at that. "Even though the weapons are for their protection?" he said, and Dean felt a part of himself relax. He hadn't even realized he'd been tense.

Jim laughed. "Something like that. Let me show you two where you'll stay; they've sort of mucked everything up around here, so the rooms are a little different."

Dean hoisted his duffel further up on his back and followed Jim to the back of the church, out to where his separate residence was housed yards from the church. Maybe the kid would lighten up here, and then when Dad came back, things would be okay for awhile.

* * *

No matter how quietly he stepped, Sam always made a sound on the tiled floor. He pursed his lips and tried again, and moved around the construction area in front of him. He was using his most worn in sneakers, but he was still tempted to try it in his socks or bare feet. He'd have to ask Pastor Jim.

Then he'd be quieter on a hunt, maybe. Then he wouldn't get them found out, like he had two weeks ago in the woods. Sure, the thing was dead, but Dad had left them behind, hadn't he? So Sam wouldn't screw up again-

_Tap._

Sam sighed in exasperation at the sound. "Dammit," he muttered under his breath.

"If you're aiming for stealth, the sigh and the cursing definitely wouldn't help."

Sam jumped guiltily as Pastor Jim walked over to him. "Sorry about that," Sam said, wincing.

"It's all right, Sam," Pastor Jim said with a smile. He glanced over at one of the pews, then took a seat, nodding his head to the space beside him. "Come sit with me a minute. I wanted to talk to you."

Sam stepped over and took a seat, leaning back and trying to get comfortable in the wooden seat. "Are you all right, Sam?" Pastor Jim gazed at him, long and hard, and Sam felt uncomfortable for an entirely different reason. "You seem very agitated and upset."

"Just...I don't know." Sam swung his leg out and tapped the pew in front of him. "I just am."

"And it wouldn't have anything to do with the work you're doing."

Sam glanced over at Pastor Jim. "Oh, no! No, I don't mind that at all. I never mind helping out, especially if it's you or Bobby. You guys are like family. Besides, it's cool to put together a weapons room that's hidden," he added with a grin. He might've rolled his eyes when Dean had pronounced it 'James Bond cool', but...it kinda was.

Pastor Jim snorted in amusement. "You and your brother are so alike sometimes, it's not even funny." His smile faded slightly as he asked, "What about your father leaving you both here?"

Sam's own grin fell away, and he moved his gaze to the wood in front of him. "Ah," Pastor Jim said after a long pause. "So you're worried."

"It's a tough hunt for three people," Sam said, his legs swinging again in frustration. "And then _one_? It'd be impossible. We almost got our as-uh, butts handed to us last time we dealt with something like this, and now two weeks later, he wants to do it again. I just..." With a growl he snapped his leg forward, landing a hard kick to the pew in front of him. The sound echoed through the church, and Sam couldn't bring himself to care.

Neither did Pastor Jim. "I know how unbearable worry can be," he said softly. "I have several parishioners who worry me on a daily basis, some I'm afraid won't be coming in on Sundays because they'll be six feet under. I have several friends who worry me in the same way; your father's only one of them. I worry about funding, about the evils that surround us, about you and your brother out on the road or in motels by yourselves. You can't live with that worry all the time, Sam; it'll make you sick, eat you up inside."

Sam glanced over at him, frowning slightly as he took in the man's calm demeanor. "You worry about this stuff all the time?"

Pastor Jim only nodded. "Then..." Sam's frown deepened. "How can you be so calm? What do you do to keep from going insane?"

"I pray," he replied with a small smile. "There's often no formalities; I simply talk to Him above. Things like, 'Help us with the church project; let us continue doing Your work' or 'My friends are out there; keep watch out over them and bring them back safely'. Things like that. God listens, God hears. You're far too small a person to keep all that worry to yourself, Sam, and despite your recent growth, God _is_ bigger," Pastor Jim teased, and Sam found himself giving a tiny grin back. "Let Him handle it. Give it to Him, and let your mind be at ease."

Sam sat back and thought it over for a minute or two. "I don't have to be formal?" he finally asked.

Pastor Jim shook his head. "God's watching out for you; let Him be your friend, your protector," he summed up. "He's got angels watching out for you; He'll take care of you and your family."

Sam smiled, an honest, wide one this time, feeling better than he had in ages. "Thanks."

"You're welcome. Now, we left your brother with sharp objects and tools; that's not a situation I want to envision in my head."

"He _is_ nineteen, you know," Sam mentioned, but he grinned and stood with Pastor Jim anyways.

"I'm aware," Pastor Jim said dryly, and Sam snickered.

* * *

The kid was actually _smiling_, something Dean almost couldn't believe. He'd heard and seen Jim sit down with Sam in the pews, and held a tiny hope that the pastor could get through to Sam where he and their dad couldn't. He'd heard something about God and prayer and had left in a hurry. It was fine if Sam wanted to believe it for a little while, and if it settled him down, then Dean was all cool with that.

Not something he was going to believe in, anytime soon. Not after Mom.

But Sam was smiling, even laughing as they helped put Jim's room together, and Dean felt himself grinning in happy relief as well. He hoped the mood would hold when their Dad came to pick them up in four days.

"I think we're going to have to call it quits for today," Jim announced. "We got the weapon's rack up; we can work on the overlying panels tomorrow."

"Shelves, right?" Sam asked, and Jim nodded. "What are you going to put on them? They'll have to be nailed or glued down so they won't fly off when you open them."

Already five steps ahead of Dean; kid was smart, he had to give him that. "You could put your Bibles up there," Dean suggested.

"Yes, because it's not as if I'd want to actually use them," Jim said, and Dean chuckled at his face. "I have some books, various knick-knacks, and photographs that I can put up there. Like when I visited Australia a few years back; there's a nice church down in Carlton, fantastic people."

"You went to Australia?" Sam asked, sounding impressed, and Dean had to admit he felt the same way. "I didn't know that."

"It's beautiful; I'd go back if I could. So yes, I do have things I can glue to the panels, hammer down if I need to. We can handle all of that tomorrow, because I, for one, am starving. And considering I'm not a teenage boy, I can only imagine how hungry you two have to be."

Dean wiped his hands on his jeans and tossed a grin Sam's way. "Growth-Boy over there's probably ready to eat."

"Ha, ha," Sam deadpanned, but he grinned too. "And it's not as if I asked to grow this tall."

"Oh really? You never asked to grow taller than your big brother?" Jim asked, a knowing smile on his face.

Sam's hesitation was all the answer Dean needed. "You little-"

"Not really all that little anymore!" Sam called behind him, already running. He laughed as Dean gave chase, up the stairs and into the church. After making it to the outside, Jim's place as their finishing point, Dean pretended to give up, as if it wasn't a big deal anymore. Sam panted and laughed again, and Dean grinned back at him.

The kid had freakishly long legs and was super skinny; Dean couldn't keep up with him lately. He needed to put some muscle on, add some weight, and _then_ Dean'd have a chance. Sam didn't need to know that, though.

"Pizza all right with you both?" Jim asked as he came up from behind them.

"What, no bread and wine?" Dean joked, and Jim chuckled.

"No, that's the Sunday Diet, according to several of my parishioners. What do you both want on the pizzas?"

"Anything," Sam said with a casual shrug. "Doesn't matter to me. I'm...crap."

Dean had just walked past his brother, but stopped now with a frown. "What's the matter?"

Hands were stuck in pockets, his little brother's wince increasing. "My knife, my pocket knife? I must've dropped it when I was running."

"I'd go back for it now, if I were you," Jim advised. "It's getting dark, and a lot of the lights don't work because of the construction."

"I'll go with you," Dean said immediately, then turned to Jim. "Anything on the pizzas; he's right, I don't really care either."

"No, go on in with Pastor Jim," Sam said, already moving back towards the church. "I know you wanted to get rid of all that dirt. Besides, I'll be back in a few minutes; path wasn't that long. I was sort of attempting to get away fast," he added with a small grin. Dean didn't return it right away, and when he did, it was weak at best. "Go on; I'll be right back," Sam promised, and headed back inside.

Dean watched him go and crossed his arms. "I see Sam's not the only worry-wart in the family," Jim said from behind him. "His path _was _the fastest, safest one out here, you know."

Damn him for knowing exactly what Dean was thinking of. "You sure you don't read minds?" he asked.

Jim snorted. "Would make talking with parishioners a lot easier...and a lot more awkward."

Dean glanced down at his shoes. "Sam's worried about something?" he finally asked.

"Your father," Jim said, nodding. Dean turned back at that. "He said something about this being a hunt for more than one person, and that you'd tangled with it before and nearly lost."

With a roll of his eyes Dean moved towards the house. Figured Sam would continue to worry about that. "The harpy came out of nowhere; nothing we could do. And we all got out of it alive. I know Dad can handle it just fine."

Jim gave a small 'hmm' at the news. "He was moving quietly around the construction area when I found him; seemed he was practicing stealth. Did something happen with the harpy?"

"No," Dean said, before he paused. "Well, Sam tripped, but it was a good thing he did, because the harpy was already coming down on us."

"He made a lot of noise, I'm assuming."

"Yeah, but the harpy was already...oh." Sam didn't know that. Couldn't possibly know that: he'd been a little focused on the ground and branches he was falling onto than the harpy dive-bombing them. He raised his eyes and found Jim nodding in understanding. "I'll talk with him," Dean said quietly. The hunt hadn't been Sam's fault; their dad hadn't said anything like that, or suggested it through actions.

Except he was going off on another harpy hunt on his own, making sure Sam and Dean weren't involved. Dean knew he was afraid for their safety, because the last hunt _had_ been way too close.

Sam would see it as a failure on his part, his fault for not being Superman that day.

"I'll order the pizzas," Jim said, and his tone of voice pulled Dean back. He looked fairly worried now, his eyes on the sky. "It's been almost ten minutes since Sam went in there."

"I'll be back," Dean promised, already heading for the church. Jim was right, it _had_ been the fastest, safest path from the basement to the outdoors.

So where the hell was Sam?

* * *

The path back yielded nothing until Sam came back up for a second look. Off in the corner, his eye caught a glimpse of glinting metal, and he cautiously made his way across the floor. The new wooden boards creaked ominously, but closer up, Sam saw that it _was_ his knife. It must've gotten thrown when he ran up the stairs. He scooted around metal scaffolding and crouched near a pew, arm reaching for the knife.

When he had to lean forward and brace his knee to reach, the floor beneath him creaked even louder at the added weight and force. His fingers barely wrapped around the knife before the floor gave way beneath him.

The fall was short and dizzying, but landing awkwardly on his left ankle was worse. Sam gasped and immediately rolled off of it, feeling nausea swell with too much adrenaline. Dust filled the air from the recent collapse, and he coughed, trying to sit up to examine his ankle.

It wasn't a break, just a sprain: if he kept off of it for a few days, he'd be fine. Still didn't help the fact that he needed to have it looked at, to at least double-check that it was just a sprain. Besides the fact that he needed something for the pain that was sharp and stabbing. His stomach rolled, and he closed his eyes, breathing in deeply.

His stomach finally relented after ten or so breaths, and he was able to look up. He'd fallen a lot farther than he'd thought: a whole floor. The boards that had fallen with him kept him boxed into a tiny space, and there was no way he'd be able to get up and out on his own. "Hello?" he called, then coughed again. "Dean? Pastor Jim? Somebody?"

No one answered him. Grimacing, he lifted himself up and tried to stand on his good foot. The sensation of straightening made him waver, enough that he almost tipped over. Instinctively, he set his left foot down to counter his imbalance.

Bad move. He choked out a scream and went back down, clutching at his bad ankle. Possibly a fracture. Dammit.

Tears pricked at the back of his eyes as he tried to breathe in and out. The pain was worse now, and with it came the panicky feeling of being trapped, no help anywhere nearby. Would anyone find him? Eventually they'd have to notice he was taking forever, right? But what if they fell in? What if one of them got hurt trying to get him out? What if-

_You can't live with that worry all the time, Sam; it'll make you sick, eat you up inside._

Pastor Jim's words cut through his frantic thoughts, and he bit his lip. What had he said he did?

_I pray_.

With his hands still wrapped around his ankle, Sam closed his eyes and began to haltingly speak. "Um, hey, God. I...I haven't really talked to you before, but I'm hoping it's still okay."

Silence answered him. He swallowed hard but continued. "Pastor Jim said you could handle all my worry and...I'm pretty worried right now." After a pause, he whispered, "And I'm kinda scared, too. He said you were watching out for me with angels, and that you'd help me out, be there, so...can you help me? Please? Help me get out?"

Well, at least his pounding heart wasn't so pounding anymore. Admitting he was afraid and freaking out had helped a lot, too. Catharsis of a sort; he was cool with that. And who knew? Maybe there was a God, and he was listening out for-

"Sam?"

Sam's eyes shot open. "Sammy?" Dean called again, somewhere above him.

"D-Dean?" he replied, coughing slightly. "I'm down here."

A shuffle of steps above him, and then Dean was peering over the edge of the hole. Sam gave a relieved smile. "Holy _crap_, Sam," Dean breathed, eyes wide as he took in the hole. His gaze snapped to Sam an instant later, anxious and worried. "You okay?"

"Just a sprain, I think; might be a fracture though," Sam admitted. "It hurts like hell."

"I'll get you out," Dean immediately assured. "Don't worry about it, okay? I'm right here, you're gonna be okay."

Even as Dean made his way down into the hole, even as he lifted Sam up and pushed him out of the hole, even as he braced Sam against him as they headed out of the church, Sam smiled. He felt at peace, relieved, thankful.

Pastor Jim had been right. There _was_ an angel watching out for him. There had been one for years; Sam had just never seen it before.

So what if his angel preferred AC/DC to the heavenly chorus?

* * *

It had been a stroke of luck at finding Sam the night before. When Dean had gotten into the church, it had been silent as a tomb and dark. He'd edged his way along walls and up a few stairs before making his way into the main part of the church.

Suddenly, he'd been able to hear a soft voice, one he'd have recognized anywhere. "Help me? Please?" he'd heard Sam say, and Dean had never felt his heart slam to a start and start up so violently before.

"Sam?" he'd called out, trying to figure out where he'd heard his brother. "Sammy?"

"D-Dean?" And there Sam'd been, down in a hole Dean would never have seen if he hadn't heard Sam's voice.

He glanced over at his little brother now, dozing on Jim's sofa with his leg propped up. Just a sprain, thank hell. He wasn't hurt anywhere else, so far as Dean or Jim could find. The kid had been loopy the night before, smiling like he'd found the answer to every question he'd ever asked.

Dean had thought it was the adrenaline until Sam had woken up that morning, glancing around and smiling when he found Dean. Whatever it was, Dean wasn't going to knock it: Sam was smiling, looking peaceful and happy for the first time in...ages. Probably wouldn't last, but for right now, Dean was clinging to it.

Jim came in then, closing the door behind him and looking fairly freaked out. "Jim?" Dean asked softly, standing to follow his friend into the kitchen. "What's the matter?"

Jim didn't answer until they were both seated at the table. "I went over the place where Sam fell last night with the construction crew? The entire bottom was littered with sharp jagged pieces that could've easily killed him. Pieces of wood that were stored in the room to be discarded. The broken pieces."

Dean felt a chill and could only stare at him. "I know you don't like the term Dean, but your brother only spraining his ankle is nothing short of a miracle," Jim continued, wiping a hand over his face.

Despite his shock, Dean only managed to resist making a face. Miracle. Right. And angels were watching out for them. If there was a God, then why had Sam gotten hurt in the church at all? What good could it have possibly done? What good had it done their mom, who'd believed-

"Dean?"

Dean stood and headed back into the living room, where a very groggy looking Sam was trying to sit up. "Is he awake? We can do lunch, if you want?" Jim asked, following Dean in.

"Lunch cool with you?" Dean asked him. Sam nodded and winced slightly as he moved his ankle. "Whoa, whoa, easy McGimp."

"You couldn't come up with a better name than that?" Sam grumbled. He did wait until Dean came over to stand, putting most of his weight on Dean.

"How about...Gimp the Chimp?"

Sam only rolled his eyes. Jim chuckled and headed back into the kitchen. "I'll make us some sandwiches. You work on getting Sam in here."

"How come I get the hard job?" Dean mock-complained, grinning when Sam pinched him. The walk was slow, Dean taking two steps before Sam would take his one, and then a few seconds for Sam to get his bearings before he'd nod to continue.

Dean glanced over at him once they cleared the sofa and finally cleared his throat. Better now than never. "You know that the hunt a few weeks wasn't your fault, right?"

Sam whipped his head up, surprised. "With the harpy?" Dean nodded. "Dean, how is it _not_? I tripped and made a lot of noise."

"Yeah, but the thing was already coming down _before _you tripped, genius," Dean argued, raising his eyebrows. "If you hadn't tripped, you'd have gotten hurt. Like really badly hurt. That thing got the drop on us too fast, and Dad and I were pretty damn thankful you stumbled. You really scared us both," he admitted a moment later.

Slowly Sam turned back to him. "Really?" he asked quietly.

"Yeah, really." From the look of realization on his face, Sam was piecing together the rest of it for himself. Dean shook his head with a small grin. Sometimes his little brother could be so dense.

So long as the kid was alive to _be_ that dense, Dean was okay.

A cleared throat from the kitchen had Dean turning back to help his brother walk. "Ham or turkey?" Jim asked. Dean merely gave him a look. "Right, both, silly of me to ask," he muttered with a smile.

"We're teenage boys; what'd you expect?" Dean asked, pretending to be confused. "Of course it's both!"

Sam laughed and took another step forward, and Dean felt relieved, too. Maybe it wouldn't last forever; Sam'd go back to being a moody teenager within a few days, Dad would come back and pick them up, life would go on as usual.

That was later. Right then and there, Sam was laughing and smiling, and Dean let himself live in the moment.

END


End file.
